


Snow Day

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Shire, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, a few sad memories, but mostly just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: Thorin has always seen snow as something to either be endured or survived.His first winter in the Shire, however, is surprisingly fun.





	Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HiddenKitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenKitty/gifts).



> About a thousand years ago, Kitty requested bagginshield in the snow as a pinch hitter thank-you fic. 
> 
> It was sleeting where I live the other day, so it's not _that_ unseasonable, right?
> 
> Also, after Sam's comments about the snow when they are trying to cross Caradhras (that they would appreciate the snow in the Shire) has always made me think that deep snow in the Shire is pretty rare.

Thorin hated snow. He always had.

When he was a young dwarf, in Erebor before Smaug, snow had been nothing but tedious and he still hated it. There was usually a dusting of snow of Erebor’s peak but during the winter they had been trapped within the mountain during the deepest snowfalls.

It should have been no hardship, as dwarves did not often leave their halls, but there was a big difference between choosing to stay inside and being unable to leave. Winters in Erebor had felt extremely long, and Thorin had always looked forward to spring.

It was only after Smaug, however, that Thorin truly learned to despise snow.

The first winter outside the mountain had been brutal for the exiles. The cold and the deprivation had caused so much death among his people, first among those still suffering from injuries or illness, then the very old, and very young. Even once they had reached the comparative safety of Ered Luin, ensuring that there was enough for everyone to eat throughout the winter had been a full time occupation for many years until the settlement had become relatively prosperous once more.

The first few winters in reclaimed Erebor had almost been as bad (although he had been unconscious for much of the first winter), but after eighteen years of ruling, fifteen of them with Bilbo as his consort, Erebor was almost as wealthy as it once was, and winter was something that they no longer had to fear.

Erebor was thriving, and Thorin was confident that it would continue to do so now that Fili was king and he was in the Shire, but his hatred for snow had not changed. When he woke one morning to see that the sky was the hazy iron grey that promised snow he knew that he’d need to make some preparations, no matter how many times Bilbo had assured him that Shire winters were different from any he’d known.    

Bilbo had already left for the market (Thorin had discovered since his retirement that he very much enjoyed having a lie-in and was willing to sacrifice first breakfast for it), but had left him his breakfast, covered up to keep it warm. He munched it slowly, considering where he could best make sure that Bag End was safe and secure.

The pantries were well-stocked (of course) and Thorin had already checked the door and window frames when they first moved in (not that he didn’t trust Bilbo’s gardener to have taken good care of his home while they were in Erebor, but there were some things he liked to check for himself), and Bilbo had already brought out the heavier winter curtains and blankets, and they had spent a cosy afternoon setting them all out (and testing the new bedding) but Thorin still felt unsettled, the urge to _prepare_ for the snow was like an itch he couldn’t reach.

His eyes settled on the almost empty basket of logs by the stove. He knew that the basket by the fire in their bedroom and in the living room were almost in the same state. They would need firewood, plenty of it to get through the winter. Who knew how long the Shire would be trapped by snow?     

And it would be something he could do to settle his uneasiness.

\---

There was already a decent pile of firewood stowed safely under a waterproof cover in Bag End’s garden, but it was easy enough for Thorin to put on his heavy fur coat, pick up Bilbo’s little axe (one just for chopping wood, not for warfare, and Thorin didn’t know how long he would have to live in the Shire before that stopped being strange) and head out to the woods to cut some more.

He strapped the large bundle of wood, the product of a good couple of hour of labour, to his back and headed back to Bag End. He had enough, with what was in their woodpile, to last for several weeks if needed, but once he had split all the firewood it might be worth him headed out to the woods again for another load.

He started splitting the firewood, the rhythmic motion putting him at ease, his mind drifting from the bad memories of the past to a calm blankness, focused on nothing but the physical effort of chopping the wood.

He’d been so focused that he actually _startled_ when Bilbo appeared behind him and said “ _how_ long have you been out here?” in a faintly appalled voice.

Thorin blinked, focusing on the question. His arms ached from the effort, but not unbearably so. He’d certainly had harder days of work. He’d grown hot at some point and had shrugged off his coat and tunic, leaving him in just his sweat-soaked undershirt, and now that he’d stopped moving, he was starting to shiver.

The stack of firewood was definitely large enough now, and he didn’t know why Bilbo was eyeing it in such a dubious way.

“Are you trying to cut enough wood for the whole Shire?” Bilbo asked, stepping forward and taking his hands, examining them. There wasn’t much evidence of his day’s exertion on his work-hardened hands, but Bilbo rubbed the faint red patches anyway. “You’re shivering, Thorin.”  

“I’m fine,” Thorin said, smiling reassuringly at Bilbo, who looked unconvinced. “It’s going to snow; I just wanted to make sure that we are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Bilbo asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know how long we are going to be snowed in for,” Thorin explained, and Bilbo’s expression turned fond, and soft with understanding. He knew all about the winters that Thorin had suffered through, of course.

“Hardly any time at all, darling,” Bilbo said. “We’ll be lucky to have two or three days of snow before the rain washes it all away.”

“But you’ve told me all about the Fell Winter,” Thorin objected, unable to grasp why Bilbo wasn’t more worried. “And everyone in the Green Dragon was…”

“Of course they were talking about it, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.” Bilbo stepped forward and cupped his face gently. “If the winter was going to be that bad, we’d already be snowed in, and the rivers would be frozen.”

Thorin looked down at his huge pile of firewood, feeling a bit foolish for his panic now, though Bilbo had been nothing but understanding and reassuring. “Maybe some of your neighbours need firewood?” he suggested.

“That’s a nice idea,” Bilbo agreed. “Put your coat on first though, you’re making me feel cold!”

\---  

When they got back to Bag End, Bilbo insisted on heating some water for a bath for Thorin (and Thorin loved Bag End but he would admit he missed the constant access to hot water that they had in Erebor) and he cooked beef and ale pie - one of Thorin’s favourite meals - for supper.

Later as they sat together in front of the fire, sipping the (strong) hot toddies that Bilbo made them, Thorin noticed the first snowflakes drift against the window. He got up and tugged the curtains across with a scowl.

“I hate snow,” he groused as he sat back down, although it was an inadequate expression for all the long winters of suffering his people had gone through.

Bilbo curled up closer to him and took his hand. “I know,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you for taking care of us.”

“Not that it was needed,” Thorin grumbled, still feeling slightly embarrassed about his over-reaction.

Bilbo was quiet for a long moment, playing with his fingers. “You’ve spent a long time worrying for those you care about. I don’t expect you to stop just because you’re retired now, or blame you for wanting us to be safe.”

Thorin leant his head against Bilbo’s, the jittery feeling he’d had since that morning truly fading away in the comfort of having his husband leaning against him.

“Have you ever been sledging?” Bilbo asked suddenly into the quiet, sleepy silence.

“No, the slopes of a mountain aren’t best suited for that,” Thorin pointed out.

 “Well, if the snow is deep enough tomorrow, I’ll take you. I’m sure my old sledge must be around here somewhere.”

“If you insist,” Thorin said, draining the last of his drink, suddenly feeling very tired.

Bilbo’s chuckle was mischievous, even muffled as it was by Thorin’s shoulder. “Oh, I do.”

\---

Thorin expected the quiet that came with a snowfall the next morning, but instead he was awoken by fauntlings laughing and shouting. He rubbed his eyes, puzzled. Maybe it hadn’t snowed overnight after all.

He wandered to the kitchen in his dressing gown to be greeted by Bilbo’s bright smile.

“I found my sledge,” he announced, and Thorin looked out of the window, confused.      

There _was_ snow on the ground – barely enough to cover his boots.

“Is this all the snow there is?” Thorin asked, still unable to believe it. Bilbo nodded, his smile gentle and rueful.

“I’ll go and get dressed then,” Thorin said, taking his morning tea with him back to the bedroom.   

When he got back to the kitchen, Bilbo was wearing his dwarven-make coat in Durin blue, though his scarf and mittens were hobbit-style. He still wasn’t wearing shoes, and the thought of that made Thorin’s toes curl inside his boots.

Bilbo handed him a napkin wrapped around some hot buttered toast and hefted a rather rickety wooden sledge up into his arms. Thorin rolled his eyes and took it from him with his free hand. “Lead the way,” he said.

Bilbo didn’t take them far. Thorin hadn’t even finished his toast by the time they got to the top of Hobbiton Hill, and he waited while Bilbo fussed with the sledge until he indicated that Thorin should get on behind him.

“Here we go,” Bilbo announced, shoving them off, and as soon as they started moving, Thorin started laughing. It felt like galloping on a pony, like being utterly free, and he and Bilbo rolled off at the bottom of the hill, still laughing.

“At your age, Bilbo Baggins, for shame,” a hobbit woman who Thorin thought was possibly a Boffin (the vast web of entangled Shire families was baffling to him; he’d thought learning his own lineage was difficult before that!) scolded.

Bilbo muttered a Khuzdul curse under his breath, before giving his neighbour an insincere smile, taking Thorin’s hand in his, and marching them back up the hill for another go.

Thorin followed eagerly that time.

By the time they’d gone down the Hill several dozen times before surrendering the sledge to a pack of clamouring fauntlings, Thorin was chilled and breathless in the best way, the previous day’s anxiety all but forgotten.

“I’m ready for a spot of lunch,” Bilbo said, his smile brighter than his bright pink cheeks.

Thorin bent down and kissed him soundly, until they were interrupted by a volley of snowballs from the watching fauntlings.

“Or we could avenge our honour and then have lunch?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo responded with a wicked smile.          

Thorin had always hated snow. But, with Bilbo in his new life in the Shire, he could admit it wasn’t all bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been sledging, but it looks fun. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you again for pinch hitting, sorry this took so long!


End file.
